Of Choices and Chances
by Saylah
Summary: The curse starts to become too much for Ranma.
1. Part I

Standard copyright disclaimers apply. I have no money, so don't  
sue.  
  
  
Of Choices and Chances (1/?)  
by GT Ranma-Chan  
  
  
He'd planned it for months, ever since he realized what the  
problem was. At least since the failed wedding.  
  
He'd always been taught to face his problems head-on, to look  
them in the face and never shirk away. That's why this solution  
made the most sense to him; he had to do it this way, to confront  
his problem directly in order to vanquish it. It was the only  
way he could think of to deal with the issue once and for all, to  
finally put to rest the dreams and uncertainties that had haunted  
him for years.  
  
To finally be whole again.  
  
It was early evening in the early summer, and Ranma realized that  
if he was going to do this he needed to work quickly. For once  
he was alone in the house: Kasumi was out on her date with Dr.  
Tofu, Nabiki had elected to stay at the University for a few  
extra weeks, and so was not around; Mom, Pop, and Mr. Tendou were  
out doing whatever it was adults did when their children were not  
looking; and Akane had decided to spend time with some of her  
high school friends, one last get-together before everyone  
started to drift away in post-graduation diaspora. He had only a  
few precious hours to accomplish his disappearing act, and he  
needed to use that time wisely; no telling when someone might  
return, or when he might get another chance.  
  
Ranma sighed, and shoved the envelope under Akane's door. For a  
few moments he stared at the duck with her name on it, and tried  
to recall the exact words he'd used on the note. He'd written  
things there that he had never quite been able to put into voiced  
words before, and now that he had committed himself to a paper  
record he actually felt good about having finally done so. He  
didn't, of course, tell her everything, just the basic plan of  
departing for China to find a cure, or at least a bath in Spring  
of Drowned Man. That part was true enough, so he wasn't starting  
his new-found confidence with her by lying. But at the same  
time, neither did he mention the little "detour" he planned, nor  
how long he expected said detour to take. Or what he feared that  
detour might reveal about himself. That would probably still be  
too much for her to take, and some things he thought were still  
best left unsaid.  
  
He took one last sigh, and turned away from her door. If there  
was going to be any hope of a future with her, he told himself,  
he needed to do this, needed to get it out of his system. To go  
someplace where no one knew him, and find out for certain. It  
was the only way. He needed to confront this problem directly,  
and to do so somewhere where conflicting agendas were not around  
to interfere. That meant he had to do it alone, had to do it  
(for honor's sake) far from everyone he knew, and (equally for  
honor's sake) could not tell them what it was he planned.   
Distantly, though, he had one true fear: that in his absence, the  
girl of his dreams would end up choosing another, and that he  
would be going through all of this for nothing.  
  
*No.* he caught himself. *Not for nothing. You would still have  
to face this sometime in your life no matter what; putting it off  
will just make it worse.* And then, another voice in his head, a  
little softer: *Have faith in her, and she will have faith in  
you.*  
  
Ranma returned to his room.  
  
Another envelope lay on his desk, with a letter to the house as a  
whole. For a moment he argued with himself as to where would be  
the best place to leave it before he departed. He wanted to make  
certain that it would not only be found, but found by someone  
responsible enough to not try to keep it a secret; the last thing  
he needed was to be brought back kicking and screaming "before he  
did anything foolish", something which he thought was a distinct  
possibility if he left the note for Pop or Mr. Tendou. After  
consideration he chose Kasumi and so wrote her name on the  
envelope, and decided to leave it on the kitchen table on the way  
out.  
  
That left only one thing to do.  
  
He went to his closet, and pulled out the backpack. It was new,  
the kind used generally by college students to carry their hefty  
book loads and everything else in their lives. It was already  
stuffed with all the things he intended to take with him.   
Clothes, mostly. A book or two to keep him occupied on the  
journey. And most importantly, some 250,000 Yen he had slowly  
accumulated over the last year. All packed away days before,  
awaiting the chance he had realized he was about to have to  
execute his plan. A storage locker at the train station also  
housed another suitcase, equally stuffed; he would have to pick  
that up before he left town, but his plans already encompassed  
that particular move. All he needed to do now was to get out of  
the house, and make good his escape before anyone noticed.  
  
He glanced at the clock. He wasn't going to make the next train,  
he thought, but he probably could make the one after that. The  
sooner the better, he realized, before everyone went out looking  
for him.  
  
He riffled through the backpack one last time, making certain  
several items were near the top for when he needed them. Then he  
zippered the pack closed, put the pack on his shoulders, picked  
up the envelope, and departed the room. Down the stairs, he  
paused at the kitchen table before placing the envelope there,  
leaning against a vase of flowers. With luck, it would be a  
hours before Kasumi came back from her date, and in the  
intervening time if anyone noticed he was gone he hoped that they  
wouldn't consider it too out of the ordinary.  
  
He paused once more, and took one last look around the house.  
  
Three years. That was how long he'd lived here, longer in one  
spot than since any time he could remember. On some level he  
felt a pang at his departure, since he had no idea when it was  
he'd see it again. Hopefully soon, but there were no guarantees.   
He would keep in contact; that much he'd promised them, although  
he also knew that he wouldn't do so regularly and certainly not  
revealing any contact information to his end in the process.   
He'd have to be careful about that when he was on his detour; the  
last thing he wanted was for them to find out about his real  
plan, and show up out of the blue.  
  
The sky was an ever-blackening dark blue when he stepped outside.   
Quickly, he made his way out the front entrance and turned in the  
direction he had already planned, all the time running.   
Everything depended on how fast he could disappear, how fast he  
could not be recognized. To do that he needed to make his way to  
the spot he had scouted out weeks before, so he could make his  
transition. And to do that while the window of opportunity was  
still open, he had to do it now.  
  
Twenty minutes of quick jogging later, he arrived at the spot: a  
clump of trees and shrubbery in the park, slightly off the beaten  
track. The immense foliage formed a rough ring around an alcove  
of flat grass, a perfect hiding spot for a few minutes of  
privacy. Nearby was the pond, and not much beyond that a public  
ladies room, both of which made the hidden alcove that much more  
perfect a location. With determination to see it through and a  
fair degree of nervousness, Ranma took a waterbottle from his  
backpack and filled it with water, then made his way toward the  
clump of trees. Pausing at the edge of the tree-line, he  
listened carefully to make certain no one else (probably some  
pair of lovers, looking for a quick place of privacy) had chosen  
that inopportune moment to occupy his chosen spot. Thankfully he  
could hear no one, so Ranma continued carefully into the brush.  
  
The first thing he did was to splash the water on himself,  
causing a change in pronoun. Then with the change complete she  
set upon her next task, that of stripping off her clothes. The  
red Chinese shirt came off first, then the black pants. Both  
were rolled up into a combined cloth log. Next, she opened her  
backpack and began to grab for the items that she had previously  
set for easy reach. First came the bra, which she put on with a  
fair degree of reluctance. *Get used to it,* were the words she  
used to move her forward, *because you'll be wearing these for  
the foreseeable future.* Next came a pair of white cotton  
panties, which she put on in record time after taking off her  
boxer shorts in equally record time; she didn't feel the need to  
make that particular change of clothes last any longer than it  
had to. Finally, she fished out a neatly folded yellow sundress,  
the kind many young women were wearing now that the weather was  
warm. With a degree of hesitation she let it drop-unfold, then  
unzipped the back and stepped into it, willing herself to  
continue forward the entire time. After fumbling around for a  
few second, she managed to get the zipper back up, then adjusted  
the lay of the dress to make it more comfortable.  
  
Flat shoes and a pair of pink-fringed white socks completed the  
outfit. Then, she put her old clothes into the backpack, taking  
a few extra minutes to double and triple-check that she wasn't  
leaving anything behind. Confident that all was now retrieved,  
she made her way carefully out of the brush, now taking care to  
loop both straps of the backpack over one shoulder, in the purse-  
like manner she'd seen other girls carry their backpacks. It was  
now essential that she try as much as possible to emulate those  
mannerisms, lest she draw attention to herself and possibly be  
recognized. She'd originally planned on making the switch at the  
Tendou residence, but decided against it when she realized she  
might be spotted on the way out in her current form by one of the  
neighbors. Not that seeing her girl form around the neighborhood  
was anything unusual, but because it might give her extended  
family a clue about what had happened. She didn't want to give  
them any hints, so she decided holding off until she was safely  
off-premises was a much better idea.  
  
One last thing to do. She hung around the ladies public restroom  
building for a few moments, trying to ascertain if there was  
anyone else in there at that hour. It was now dark, so the  
number of people in the park was now less, but time to the train  
was also running out so she decided to just plunge ahead. Again,  
luck was with her; the restroom was vacant.  
  
She went to a sink, then propped her backpack up next to an  
adjacent sink, opened a side pouch, pulled out a few items, then  
turned to the mirror.  
  
It was appalling, she thought detachedly, at some of the skills  
she'd acquired since she'd gotten this rotten curse. She thought  
this as she tipped a bottle of foundation into her hands, then  
rubbed some of the light beige liquid onto her face with her  
fingers. Next came a quick dab of blue eye shadow, a thin line  
of eyeliner, some mascara, a little rouge brushed on the cheeks,  
and finally some rather red lipstick that made her lips feel  
oily. A few touch-ups and some powder, and she was finished with  
her quick session of make-up.  
  
She put the items back into the backpack, then reached behind her  
head and methodically began to undo her braids. It took a few  
minutes, but after some painful tugging the task was done. She  
used a few strokes from a brush to bring some of the more unruly  
areas in line, then fished some hair pins and a scrunchie out  
from her backpack. Her hair was soon tied back, but hung more  
loose than was normal for it. Finally, she reached once more  
into her backpack, and withdrew a pair of clip-on earrings and a  
heart-shaped pendant necklace.  
  
She stepped back to examine herself in the mirror.  
  
A girl was starring back. A pretty girl, young, sweet, shapely,  
and very, very feminine. Thin, shapely legs came down from a  
hemline barely at the knees. Her lips were red, pouty, almost  
kissable. Her hair hung behind her, its full, red, voluminous  
body hanging almost down to her trim waist. A necklace hung from  
her neck, its pendant almost nestled between the hint of cleavage  
revealed by the sundress' plunging neckline. She looked  
beautiful, desirable, a girl on the verge of full-grown  
womanhood.  
  
And (s)he was that girl.  
  
*No turning back.* she told herself, even as her stomach yawned  
open and felt like it was plummeting. *You know you have to do  
this.*  
  
She watched herself nod back in the reflection. She'd known it  
for some time now, known this was coming. She'd tried to kid  
herself otherwise, tried to tell herself different, tried to say  
that no matter what the exterior looked like, the interior was  
and always would be the same. Even when she caught herself  
thinking otherwise, even when she found herself jolting awake in  
the middle of the night from the dreams, she tried to deny what  
other parts of her psyche were screaming for her to notice.   
Now... now she was quickly heading for an intersection from which  
she would have to choose a path, and for the sake of someone she  
cared for very much she needed to know the answer now. It was  
just almost within her power now to obtain her cure, but before  
she did that she needed to know for certain which cure she was  
reaching for.  
  
She looked at herself in the mirror once more, nodded one last  
time in acknowledgment, then gathered up the last of her things.  
  
As she stepped out into the night, she paused one last time, took  
a breath, and brought forth the first few steps of this new life.   
A temporary one, she hoped, but there was that persistent,  
nagging voice in the back of her mind that wondered how temporary  
it was. She dismissed it immediately, not wanting to think about  
those implications.  
  
"You've got what you wanted, Ranko." she said quietly to herself,  
as she made her way briskly out of the park and toward the train  
station. Ahead, she could see the building in the distance.   
"You've got your chance."  
  
"Now... make your case."  
  
END OF PART ONE  
  
  
  
There, I hope you like this little excursion. Comments would be  
appreciated. Additional chapters will be forthcoming as soon as  
I get around to writing them.  
  
Anything else I forgot?  
  
GT Ranma-Chan  
gt_ranma_chan@yahoo.com 


	2. Part II

Of Choices and Chances (2/?)  
By GT Ranma-Chan  
  
Finding an apartment turned out to be easier than she thought. A  
few well-placed questions and one visit to an agency later, she  
found herself standing in a small, vacant room and uttering the  
words "I'll take it."  
  
She had to fork over three months rent in advance, though, which  
did cut into her funds substantially. But she ended up with a  
room in a quiet neighborhood in Kobe, on the second floor  
overlooking a street. She had to share the bathroom with the two  
other young women that lived on the floor, which meant she would  
have to be careful when it came to shower time. But still, it  
was her first apartment, and somehow it felt wonderful as she  
stood there for a time trying take it all in, even though the  
room was smaller than her place at the Tendou residence and had a  
much tinier closet. It did have a small desk with a couple of  
empty drawers, though. She would have to buy a mat to sleep on,  
but then that had always been part of her plan.  
  
Her name was now Ranko Yamamuri. She wasn't certain why she  
chose the surname, except perhaps that it sounded bland enough to  
hopefully not attract attention. Which was her objective, after  
all. She briefly considered changing the familiar name as well;  
Reiko and Ryoko flashed briefly in her mind as suggestions, and  
if she had to choose she decided she'd have gone ahead with the  
latter, in deference to one of her all-time favorite anime  
characters. But upon reflection she decided to keep with Ranko  
after all. The name wasn't terribly unheard of, just a little  
rare. On top of that, she was setting herself up with enough life  
changes as it was; to have to learn to answer to yet another name  
was perhaps too much in too short a time. Besides, "Beautiful  
Chaos" sort of suited her sense of humor.  
  
She would probably have to work on getting some kind of  
identification under that name, she realized. But at present no  
one had asked her for any, so she figured as long as no one was  
asking she was prepared to put it off for as long as necessary.   
Who knows, perhaps she'll come to a conclusion long before she  
needed one.  
  
The only drawback to all of this was that she realized she would  
probably have to do some of her workouts in the apartment. It  
was annoying, but necessary. She could probably do some of her   
her regular exercises in the park, but she also knew she was  
probably going to have to hold herself back when it came to her  
martial arts. Young women practicing the art were not uncommon,  
but a young woman exhibiting the kind of skill and precision she  
was capable of would almost certainly bring about attention.   
Which was exactly what she was trying not to attract. So, she  
was going to have to come up with some kind of regimen that she  
could do in the privacy of her own apartment. It would be  
difficult, but not impossible. Perhaps later, when she had a  
job, she might have enough money to join a club and have a dojo  
to work out in. But not at the moment  
  
Finding a job. That was going to be her biggest problem. She  
certainly couldn't live forever on the money she had. She still  
needed some clothes; what she'd brought was enough to live on for  
awhile, but not indefinitely. Especially underwear; she knew she  
was going to have to get some of that soon, and that prospect  
filled her with an odd mixture of dread and something else she  
still wasn't sure she wanted to acknowledge. Then there was  
food: what was she going to live on, instant ramen noodles?   
Well, she supposed she wouldn't be the first poor kid on their  
own for the first time to do so.  
  
She could just sit in her apartment and do nothing. Just on food  
and clothes alone, she figured her money might just stretch to  
the end of her three-month advance rent. A part of her wanted to  
do just that, or to chuck all of this and just go back to Nerima.   
But she killed that thought. The whole purpose of this was to  
live among people as a young woman, to interact with them as a  
young woman, to basically BE a young woman. To find out what it  
was like, and if the changes to her psyche she suspected were  
there in fact did exist. She owed it to Akane to find out, she  
told herself, while acknowledging at the same time she also owed  
it to herself.  
  
She was in the middle of her ruminations, trying to decide what  
next to do, when there was a knock on her door.  
  
"Who is it?" Ranko asked, as she unlocked the door and opened it.  
  
Outside was a young woman, whom she had seen earlier when Mrs.  
Hayakawa, the land lady, had shown her around the maison. She  
was a small, young woman, about Ranko's height but of thinner  
build and probably a couple of years older than her, but not much  
more. She had long, straight black hair that reached just beyond  
her shoulders, and seemed to have a perpetual smile on her face.   
"Hi, it's just me, your next door neighbor. I saw you earlier,  
but didn't get a chance to say hello."  
  
Ranko smiled. Somehow, she liked this person already. "Why,  
thank you, um....?"  
  
"Sugasawa Fumiko." she said, with a slight bow. "And you are?"  
  
"Yamamuri Ranko." Ranko returned her neighbor's smile. "Well,  
thank you, nice to meet you. I guess we'll be bumping into each  
other regularly."  
  
"Probably." Fumiko said, with a laugh. Then she peered  
cautiously over Ranko's shoulder, as if trying to gauge  
something. "Err, um, I don't mean to barge in or anything, but I  
noticed that you came in with a small amount of luggage."  
  
Ranko looked at her with a little bit of apprehension. "Um,  
yes?" she returned, cautiously.  
  
"Well, do you have anything to sleep on?"  
  
Ranko shook her head in the negative. "Uh, no. I was going to  
go out and buy something as soon as I settled in."  
  
"Oh. Well, don't bother. I've got an extra bedroll you can  
have. Come on over to my apartment, and you can pick it up."  
  
"Umm, how much?" Ranko asked, hesitantly.  
  
Fumiko waived her hand dismissively. "Oh, don't worry about  
that. I've certainly got no use for it, and since you look like  
you're just starting out you're probably needing a little help.   
Am I right?"  
  
Ranko shrugged, but nodded in the affirmative. "Well, thank you.   
That's very generous." And with that, Ranko followed her new-  
friend into the apartment next door.  
  
Fumiko's apartment turned out to be larger than Ranko's, but only  
slightly. However, it was clearly more cluttered. A bedroll on  
the ground was unkempt, the covers thrown haphazardly to one  
side. On the room desk sat an older laptop currently with the  
screen down, and surrounded by a stack of books in a variety of  
languages. Judging by her brief look at the spines, Ranko judged  
the books to be mostly language-related. On the floor was a CD  
playing boom box, and a stack of CD's, mostly classical music by  
the look of the titles. There was also a small dresser, from  
which a number of drawers were open and various garments draped  
over the sides. The rest of her wardrobe looked to be scattered  
in various piles on the floor, although some of the piles looked  
as if efforts had been made to fold and be otherwise presentable.  
  
Fumiko went immediately to her closet, standing on her knees.   
After pulling out some other clothes and pushing aside some of  
the dresses hanging from the bar, she gave a cry of triumph.   
"Here it is!" she exclaimed in satisfaction. She swiftly began  
to stack various items on the floor behind her. "Here's the  
bedroll. Here's also some sheets that go with it, a blanket, and  
an extra pillow."  
  
Ranko stared at the pink-and-white patterned monstrosities before  
her, aghast. "Oh." she said, unconsciously mimicing Kasumi. "I  
didn't realize they were, um..."  
  
Fumiko looked up at Ranko, faintly disappointed. "Oh, uh... I'm  
sorry, is that a problem? I didn't realize that maybe..."  
  
Ranko considered for a split moment, but the fact that the other  
woman was willing to give her the bedroll for free finally won  
her around. After all, she now needed to watch her money. "Oh  
no, it's not that, it's just... I didn't expect it all to be  
'Hello Kitty'."  
  
Fumiko gave her a slightly guilty smirk. "Yeah, I know. I used  
to be 'Hello Kitty' mad when I was a lot younger, and I took some  
of that stuff with me when I moved out. I got tired of it,  
though, and bought a new bedroll a few months ago." She sighed.   
"It just seemed a waste to throw the old one out, though."  
  
Ranko bent down to pick up the items. "Oh well. I only need it  
to sleep on, I guess. It's not like I'm going to show people  
around my apartment." She gave Fumiko a reassuring smile. "Thank  
you. This is very generous of you."  
  
Fumiko helped with setting up the bedroll. The sheets and  
blankets had all been washed and smartly folded prior to storage,  
so by the end of it the entire set was laid out in all of its  
ghastly, sickly-feminine glory. Ranko wanted desperately to  
cringe every time she looked at it. Still, she hid that very  
well from her new friend.  
  
Fumiko helped her unpack her meagre belongings, mostly girl  
clothes she had accumulated over the years or squirreled away  
secretly over the past few weeks. Some had been things she had  
obtained for one hairbrained scheme or another. Most, like the  
underwear, had been lifted from one of Happosai's secret stashes  
or set aside from clothes the other girls had discarded. She had  
taken some time in assembling the wardrobe, concentrating on  
things that would not be missed or   
which she could purchase on the sly and not be noticed. Slacks  
figured prominently, although she did break down and purloin one  
of Nabiki's old black skirts, not that she ever had any intention  
of actually wearing it she told herself. A few blouses. The  
sundress she was currently wearing and one other made up all of  
the fancy clothes she carried. An assortment of t-shirts,  
sweats, and sweaters made up the balance. Her neighbor commented  
on the paltry collection, but Ranko shrugged it off by saying she  
had "planned to go shopping anyway." Fumiko volunteered to show  
her where the best local retail areas where, and before Ranko  
could think of a tactful way to decline the offer and instead go  
off on her own, she found herself walking down the street with  
the older woman at her side and heading for one of the main  
thoroughfares in the district.  
  
After about a half hour, Ranko relaxed and decided to just enjoy  
the company. She wasn't certain why Fumiko was being so  
forthcoming toward her, but she soon began to feel the other  
woman's enthusiasm was infectious. It was pleasant, at least, to  
be able to talk with someone and not find that there was a  
purpose to their company, or to be always on the look-out for  
ulterior motives, or even to have to juggle conversations just to  
keep several different factions of fiancees from going to war  
with each other. Fumiko simply was a cheerful, optimistic person  
who truly liked to help people, and it soon became quickly  
obvious to Ranko that there were some things she was still in  
need of help with.  
  
Fumiko nixed the slacks she was looking at. "Don't bother. You  
already have too many, and you said yourself your money needs to  
stretch as far as possible."  
  
Ranko looked at the women's slacks on the hanger, and regretfully  
put them back. "Then what do you....?"  
  
Fumiko pointed to a circular display behind the red-head.   
"There. You probably need a couple more skirts. A couple of  
knee lengths should do, and at least one full-length." Fumiko  
pulled a few, and handed them to Ranko. "Here, try these on."  
  
Ranko looked at the cloth dismally. "But..."  
  
Fumiko shook her head. "You said you wanted to go out job  
hunting soon, right? Well, look around you. How many working  
girls around here do you see wearing slacks?"  
  
Ranko glanced around, and realized she had a point. A number of  
young women were around, many obviously on their lunch breaks  
from wherever. Very few were not wearing skirts or dresses.   
Inside of her, she could hear an entity called Ranma start to  
rail, but the only words she could speak were "Ok, I guess so..."   
Ten minutes and one size adjustment later, Ranko had three  
assorted-length skirts picked out along with a dark-gray sheaf  
dress Fumiko recommended. The price was more than she wanted to  
pay, but she decided to defer to the other woman's judgement.  
  
Ranko entered the lingerie department with a queasy feeling of  
forebodence, but suppressed the urge to show it. She didn't want  
to come off as completely ignorant to her new friend. After all,  
she was suppose to be an average young woman buying clothes for  
herself, right? Wasn't that the role she was trying to fit in?   
So, all of this should have come natural to her. Besides, she'd  
actually been dragged off shopping for lingerie once or twice  
before. Admittedly, those instances had mostly been with her  
mother, who at the time didn't know this buxom young red-head was  
in fact her son. Still, she did come away with some knowledge.   
Like her bra size. And the awareness that if she was going to be  
condemned to wearing skirts and dresses for the foreseeable  
future, she also needed slips to go underneath them. So she  
picked out a few items, as bland and unfettered with lace and  
frills as she could find, and swiftly paid for and added them to  
her shopping bag.  
  
Fumiko, ever the one to look out for her new charge, pointed out  
a set for her. Black, heavily set with lace, with bra, panty,  
garters, and a pair of stockings. Ranko merely glared at her.  
  
A pair of shoes, some hose, a few more cosmetics, and a stop at  
the jewelry counter completed their trip. Afterwards, they  
stopped off for a quick drink at an outdoor caf‚.  
  
"So, where are you from?" Fumiko finally asked.  
  
The answer came out before Ranko could edit it. "Nerima." she  
said, then instantly wished she hadn't. At least say another  
district in Tokyo, she scolded herself.  
  
"Ooo, I've never been there." Fumiko said pleasantly, which made  
Ranko feel a little more at ease. With her luck, she decided,  
Fumiko was just as likely to come from someplace nearby her  
former haunts. "I've only been to the Tokyo area once, and that  
was just on a weekend when I was twelve. Is it nice there?"  
  
"Nice enough." Ranko responded, equally pleasant. She gave the  
older woman an ironic smile. "A bit boring sometimes..."  
  
"Why did you leave?"  
  
*To find myself.* she thought. "Well, I'm finished with high  
school, and most of my friends were moving on, so I just decided  
I wanted to get away from everything and move out on my own."   
Which was all true enough, she reflected, although the minor fact  
that half of her friends were also, at any given time, among her  
fiercest opponents also contributed greatly. "Tired of school,"  
she added, "which was why I decided to delay University for a  
year."  
  
"What do your parents think of this?"  
  
*Oh, nothing. They've probably only just found out.* "My  
parents... make their plans regardless of what I think." Ranko  
put just enough of an edge on these words for Fumiko to hopefully  
pick up that this particular avenue of conversation was closed.   
For a second the woman looked surprised, but then her face  
changed curiously. Fumiko politely allowed the subject to change  
when Ranko spoke next. "What about you? What are you doing  
here?"  
  
"Oh, not much really. Like you, I guess I just decided I wanted  
to get away from everything and try seeing the world for a  
change. My family lives just outside of Kyoto, in company  
housing." She smirked. "I've got two other sisters, and all  
three of us were crammed into the same room. As soon as I was  
old enough I decided I wanted out."  
  
Ranko nodded in sympathy; back in the Tendou residence she too  
had often felt like that, especially when at night her dad was  
snoring in the room they shared.  
  
"Are you going to go to back to school?"  
  
Fumiko's face faltered slightly, betraying a degree of glumness.   
"Tried. Lost by one point on the entrance exam." She raised her  
index finger in emphasis. "One point, one measly point! Can you  
believe that? Now I have to wait another year to retake the  
tests."  
  
"That must be frustrating."  
  
"Frustrating isn't the word for it."  
  
They left the caf‚ and continued back toward the apartment  
building, stopping along the way to quickly pick up some non-  
perishable groceries and couple of cheap pots to cook food in;  
there already was a small kitchen in the apartment building with  
a communal stove and refrigerator, so there was a place to  
prepare some meals. Along the way, the two talked about  
inconsequential things, Ranko asking questions about the  
neighborhood and where things were, Fumiko supplying answers and  
periodically asking a few questions of the young red-head  
herself. All in all, it turned out to be a fairly enjoyable,  
relaxing afternoon, even if Ranko became faintly alarmed at the  
amount of money she had found herself to be suddenly devoid of.   
A year's worth of savings could simply NOT have gone away that  
fast.  
  
Ranko had just finished picking out her one splurge (a cheap  
clock radio, mostly because she told her companion that she'd go  
crazy if she didn't have anything to listen to) when Fumiko asked  
a question that made her stop. "So, do you have anyone back home  
in Nerima?" she asked, with curiosity.  
  
Ranko stopped for a moment, stumped. *How do I answer that  
question?* she asked herself. "Well, I guess sort of." she began  
carefully, hesitantly. "We've certainly talked about getting  
together, but, well..."  
  
"But you haven't yet made the commitment."  
  
"No, not as such. There are, um, still some issues that need to  
be resolved and, well...." Ranko let the sentence trail off  
uncompleted.  
  
Fumiko nodded, as if she understood. "Well, then I won't pry any  
farther." she told Ranko.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
After a pause, Fumiko continued. Her voice, however, had  
suddenly become rather serious. "Ranko... Mrs. Hayakawa is a  
very nice lady. She's been around a long time, too, and has had  
her share of tragedies. If you treat her right, she can be a  
good friend and confidant. She'll let rules slide, she'll even  
let the rent slide, as long as she knows you're honest and not  
trying to take advantage of her." There was another pause. "If  
you have a problem or are in trouble, she's the person to go see.   
Trust me on this, I know."  
  
Ranko blinked. "What makes you think I have any problems?" she  
blurted, perhaps more quickly than was prudent.  
  
Fumiko merely smiled, knowingly. "I'm not saying anything.   
Just... giving you the heads-up, should something ever come up."   
The smile became a lopsided grin. "Us girls have got to stick  
together, you know."  
  
At the apartment building they met a couple of the other tenants,  
a middle-aged dock worker who lived on the first floor, and  
another young woman named Noriko Taneda, who was the other young  
female occupant of the second floor. Taneda was on her hurried  
way down the stairs when they arrived, dressed in a black one-  
piece dress and late evidently for a night on the town with a  
boyfriend. She gave Fumiko a quick hello, gave Ranko a quick  
welcome-greeting, then departed into the evening.  
  
"One last thing." Fumiko whispered into Ranko's ears, after the  
other young woman departed. "If you ever decide to bring your  
boyfriend up to your room, Mrs. Hayakawa usually turns a blind  
eye, so long as you don't draw attention to yourself when you do.   
Just remember: be discrete."  
  
Fumiko giggled when she saw how red Ranko's face turned at THAT  
piece of advice.  
  
And so, Ranko returned to her room, and unpacked her new  
purchases. She shook her head at the skirts and dress she had  
purchased, and at the other items that had found their way into  
her bags. She looked down at the Hello Kitty bedroll that  
awaited her, and then at the newly-purchased mirror on her desk  
surrounded by cosmetics and jewelry. She suddenly grew conscious  
of the straps to her bra, now digging into the skin on her back  
and shoulders. It had not even been 24 hours, and already she  
was becoming acclimated.  
  
A part of her was scared at what she had so casually spent her  
day doing, but even so she thought that (if she was really honest  
with herself, but then again self-honesty had never been one of  
her strong points) another part of her was finding it oddly  
exhilarating, almost liberating. One segment of her was warring  
with another over the simple question of how she should feel, and  
as a result everything seemed tentative, unresolved. A distant  
feeling of vague, unformed something that she could only hope the  
coming days and weeks would bring into focus.  
  
She grunted, smirked, and began to set up her room more to her  
liking.  
  
One rep of kata, a bowl of ramen noodles, and a long cold shower  
later, she cuddled up underneath her pink cartoon-cat blanket,  
placed her had on the equally pink pillow, and calmly went to  
sleep, ending Ranko's first day.  
  
And predictably, the dreams began to come once more.  
  
END OF PART TWO  
  
  
GT Ranma-Chan  
gt_ranma_chan@yahoo.com  
  



	3. Part III

Of Choices and Chances  
By GT Ranma-Chan  
  
PART THREE  
  
He was in a church, a western-style church. He knew it rather  
than saw it; the organ music, after all, was a dead giveaway, and  
there was the further clue that pews of some sort seemed to be  
stretching off on either side of him, going off far into the  
distance. He couldn't tell much beyond that; there was a thin  
white fabric hanging in front of his face, one which successfully  
hid whatever it was that lay beyond.  
  
Somehow a bouquet of flowers had appeared in his hands. Strange  
that they should do so, he thought, but he kept them  
nevertheless. He was vaguely aware that he was suppose to be  
holding them at this particular moment, that it was expected of  
him to do so. They were pretty flowers, too; he could smell  
their fragrance.  
  
They were moving forward. *They?* he thought, and suddenly he  
realized his father was standing next to him. He looked faintly  
ridiculous, dressed as he was in a tuxedo while still in panda  
form, but he displayed no outward appearance of finding the  
absurdity of the situation even remotely humorous. Somber,  
perhaps, but hardly humorous.  
  
He grew aware that others were standing in the pews around him.   
Those on his right side he didn't know, except perhaps as  
indistinct faces he had met once or twice before. The ones on  
his left side, though, he all knew. Friends, family, extended  
family, acquaintances. Mom was there. So were Nabiki, Kasumi,  
and Mr. Tendou (*Where was Akane?* he wondered, but then reminded  
himself that he'd find her up front). Ryouga, the Kuno siblings,  
and several of his old classmates from Furinkan were also  
present. Happosai and the old crone too, being unusually civil.   
So was the middle-aged man with the slices of cheese on the  
platter (*Who the hell is that guy?* he wondered). Several more  
faces that he could make out, despite the white gauziness, all of  
whom were familiar.  
  
They were all starring at him, as if accusing him of some crime.  
  
As he passed them he felt a hard queasiness in his stomach, but  
decided it was just due to the clothes he was wearing. It was a  
rather tight outfit, after all; he could feel the material  
cinching him tightly.  
  
He proceeded toward the front of the church. Akane was there,  
standing facing him. So were Ukyou and Shampoo. They were  
dressed alike, in lavender dresses. Or were they green? It  
didn't matter, he thought. All that mattered was that they were  
glaring at him.  
  
Akane was mouthing the word "pervert" over and over.  
  
*Why would she do that?* he wondered.  
  
Then he noticed the person meeting them at the front of the  
church. Tall, handsome, dressed smartly in an expensive tuxedo.   
The person looked at him with a smile on their face.  
  
For a moment, he couldn't make out whose face it was. Tatewaki?   
Ryouga? The features seemed to change so fast. Mikado?   
Picolet?  
  
The face solidified on Picolet, and suddenly everything made an  
uneasy sense.  
  
He'd lost, he decided. He'd lost the contest, and by the terms  
of their agreement, he had to marry Picolet. He had to; he'd  
given his word. That's why he was standing there in a wedding  
dress (which, suddenly, in all clarity, he knew he was wearing.  
*Why hadn't I objected to that before?*), why his father was  
reaching forth and shaking the young man's hand (*Idiot! This is  
your fault!*), and why suddenly he found Picolet's arm hooked  
around his, and together the two of them were advancing to the  
altar (*NO!!*).  
  
The priest smiled at them. "Does anyone know any reason why  
these two should not be wed?" the sage asked the congregation.  
  
"Yes!" he shouted. "I'm a guy!"  
  
Everyone acted as if they had not heard him.  
  
The priest turned to Picolet. "Do you take this woman to be your  
lawfully wedded wife?"  
  
Picolet nodded. "I do."  
  
The priest turned towards him. "Do you take this man to be your  
lawfully wedded husband?"  
  
*I can't marry him! I'm a guy!* he thought fiercely. But  
somehow, the words that came out were: "I do."  
  
A ring suddenly appeared on his finger. Both of their fingers.  
  
"You may kiss the bride." he heard the priest say. And with  
that, he watched in mounting horror as the white veil was drawn  
back, and Picolet's smiling face was before him.  
  
"NO! I can't kiss you! I'm a guy!"  
  
"Not any longer." Picolet said. "Now you're my wife."  
  
"But I'm a guy!" he insisted, and to prove the point he lifted a  
kettle above his head and poured hot water upon him.  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
"The decision has been made for you." Picolet said, still  
smiling. "It was taken out of your hands by your father. So now  
you have to stay as you are."  
  
"NO! I won't do it! I won't..."  
  
Picolet leaned forward toward his lips. "Rejoice!" the young man  
said, "Now you don't have to fight it anymore!"  
  
And with that, Picolet reached forward and kissed... her.  
  
She opened her eyes. The church was gone. The altar was gone.   
Everyone else was gone. Except her and Picolet.  
  
They were in a room. The walls were white, mountains of flowers  
were piled high, and ionian columns stretched above far into the  
sky. Behind her she could feel the presence of a bed.  
  
The wedding dress was on the ground around her. She was standing  
in her underwear.  
  
Picolet stood before her, still smiling. He was naked.  
  
"You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you?" he asked her.   
It sounded more like a statement than a question. "To be able to  
give in, to not have to resist?"  
  
She did not answer him. She could not. She dared not.  
  
He reached forward and placed his hand on her waist. The cast  
iron corset peeled away, as if nothing. "To no longer have to  
suppress yourself, to just let yourself go?"  
  
She still did not answer, but her face looked up directly at him,  
afraid. She felt him draw her closer.  
  
"To finally let yourself be?" he finished.  
  
She stared up into his face, his eyes. She felt his arms  
encircle her to caress, and his lips falling once more on hers.   
And she felt herself backing up, falling gently onto the bed.   
And felt him above her, still holding, still kissing, moving,  
holding, caressing, kissing, holding, moving...  
  
A voice echoed. Low at first, but gaining momentum as he  
continued and she continued and they continued.  
  
Madness, it said. Complete and utter madness.  
  
Madness.  
  
Madness.  
  
Madness.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Ranko's eyes popped wide open, and she jolted with a start to a  
sitting upright position. "Mad...!" she yelped.  
  
Her breathing was heavy, fast. She panted for several moments in  
the darkness, still stunned. Then slowly, uncertainly, she wiped  
her forehead with her arm, getting rid of the prodigious amount  
of sweat that had beaded on her brow.  
  
She stared glass-eyed into the nearly-empty room, not so much  
seeing anything as to let the darkness take her mind off what she  
had just dreamt. She continued her heavy breathing, but slowly  
it began to subside.  
  
*Dear god.* she thought. *That has to be the worst one.*  
  
*No,* she corrected herself, after a moment's consideration, *the  
worst in months, but not the worst ever.*  
  
As her ragged breath began to recover, she became aware of the  
sounds around her. From outside she heard a dog bark in the  
distance, and the sound of nearby solitary footsteps. A car  
passed slowly in the street, the ghostly glow of its headlights  
moving across the ceiling of her apartment. The low boom of an  
airplane rumbled from above, and the extremely faint whisper of  
pop music from a radio rose from below.  
  
She continued to stare into space.  
  
"What am I doing here?" she said to herself. "This is stupid. I  
could be on my way to China by now, going to the springs."  
  
She glanced down at the bedroll she was sleeping on, and grimaced  
at the hideously cute incarnation of feline cartoon evil.  
*Funny,* she thought clinically, *how a real cat could make me go  
berserk, but a cartoon cat can only make me cringe for entirely  
different reasons."  
  
She laid back down, and stared at the ceiling.  
  
"I shouldn't be doing this." she continued. "It's crazy that I'm  
doing this. What possible good reason is there to put me through  
all of this?"  
  
*The dreams.* she told herself. *Look at what the dreams are  
saying.*  
  
She stared at the ceiling, and felt the first tendrils of fatigue  
reach out for her.  
  
*That's it.* she concluded, finally. *I'm outta here. Doing this  
is only going to encourage everything, make it worse.* She  
closed her eyes, and laid her head to her side. "Tomorrow I'm  
going to Mrs. Hayakawa, tell her it was all a mistake, get my  
money back, leave, go on to China, and find a real cure. Not  
this stupid half-assed plan of mine.*  
  
*Yeah, that's what I'll do.*  
  
*Yeah.*  
  
And as she drifted off to sleep, she tried to picture the look  
that would be on Akane's face when she finally returned. After  
the trip to China. When she was finally cured.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
It was early morning when Ranko stumbled into the commons room,  
wearing a set of light blue warm-ups she had taken with her from  
Nerima.  
  
"You look awful." Fumiko told her as she entered, with a slight  
grimace. The young woman was at the counter, putting the  
finishing touches on her lunch package.  
  
Ranko nodded, tried to stifle a yawn, and failed. "Rotten night  
of sleep." she said, stretching her arms and twisting one  
shoulder, mostly because it felt good to flex the muscles.  
  
Fumiko nodded in understanding. "Let me guess: first night in  
your first apartment."  
  
Ranko nodded vaguely. "Yeah, something like that."  
  
"Took me a week to get used to mine. Don't worry, it passes."  
  
Ranko went to one cabinet and began to pull at the small pile of  
pre-processed foods, looking for something quick to fix. Her  
second day out, and already she missed Kasumi's cooking. Oh  
well, it wasn't the first time she'd had to live on quickly-  
prepared meals. She pulled a packet of ramen noodles, and picked  
up a small pot from another cupboard.  
  
"Have you given any thought about where you'll apply?" Fumiko  
asked, conversationally.  
  
Ranko looked up from the stove, slightly confused. "Apply?"  
  
"For a job. You know, where you want to work, what you want to  
do. Have you given it any thought?"  
  
Ranko shrugged. "Not really. I guess I just planned to pick up  
a newspaper or go down to the employment office and see what's  
available." (*Not the employment office,* she corrected herself;  
*No identification.*).  
  
Fumiko thought for a moment. "Do you have any skills? Typing?   
Computer? Anything like that?"  
  
*Well, lets see. I can probably cream just about anybody you  
care to mention.* "No, not really."  
  
"Well, that takes care of most office work then. There's always  
retail, I suppose."  
  
"Not if I can avoid it."  
  
"Smart girl." Fumiko considered for a beat. "Then there's  
always the clubs, you know."  
  
Ranko shot Fumiko a glare. "The clubs?" she said carefully.  
  
The other young woman returned the glare with a completely  
straight face. "Uh huh. You know, the night clubs. They're  
always looking for barmaids or dancers or girls willing to,  
umm..."  
  
"Fumiko..." Ranko's voice took on an edge of ice.  
  
"Oh, come on. It's short hours, good pay, and you get to meet  
all kinds of interesting..."  
  
"FUMIKO!"  
  
Fumiko burst into laughter. "Ok, I apologize. I thought that's  
what you'd say, but I just wanted to make sure. I'm sorry if I  
offended you." Despite the apology, a large degree of humor  
remained on her face and in her voice.  
  
"Grrrrrr." *Ok, that's it. I'm leaving as soon as I can get my  
rent back. And even if I can't.* A thought struck Ranko. "What  
about you? What do you do?"  
  
Fumiko told her. Ranko just shook her head.  
  
"Hey, it's not bad. It's not strenuous, people usually don't  
bother you, and you spend most of the time standing around  
pushing buttons. That's it."  
  
"It must get boring."  
  
"It can be. But then that gives me an opportunity to think about  
my studies, so it's not a complete waste of time. Besides," she  
added, "it pays the bills. It's not like I'm going to make a  
career out of it, just until I can get into school." Fumiko  
considered again. "Say, if you're interested, one of the girls  
is leaving, so maybe..."  
  
Ranko shook her head in the negative. "No, don't. I don't think  
I'd be interested. At least, not until I've checked on what else  
is available." *I'm leaving, so why bother?*  
  
It was Fumiko's turn to shrug. "Well, suit yourself." She  
glanced up at the wall clock. "Which reminds me, it's time I  
went up and got ready to go. See you later?"  
  
"See you later." Ranko agreed. *Or maybe, not at all.* Which  
reminded her of something. "Oh, by the way." she asked, at the  
departing Fumiko. "Have you seen Mrs. Hayakawa? I wanted to ask  
her something."  
  
Fumiko shrugged again. "She left this morning, early. I, um, I  
don't think she'll be back until later, perhaps not even until  
tomorrow."  
  
A confused, apprehensive look came to Ranko's face. "Tomorrow?   
Why?"  
  
"Family business. Look, um, I can't explain it right now, but  
suffice to say she probably won't be back today." A deep sigh.   
"When I get off work I'll try to explain some more, but right now  
I've got to get moving if I'm going to make it on time." And  
with that, Fumiko turned and headed up the stairs for her  
apartment, leaving a slightly perplexed Ranko in her wake.  
  
Ranko watched her depart. *What the?* was all she could think.  
  
She gave a long sigh of resignation, and turned back to the  
stove. Whatever it was about her landlady, she supposed she'd  
find out in due course. In the meantime, there was this whole  
getting back on the road thing she had to consider, and how to  
ease out of this ill-advised side trip she'd concocted.  
  
"Another day in my girl form." she mumbled to herself, as she  
returned to her boiling pot and makeshift breakfast. "You'd  
think the whole world was conspiring against me."  
  
*Or agreeing with you.* one traitorous thought flashed.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
Ranko had contemplated spending the day in her apartment, but  
after doing a short, modified rep of her kata she found she had  
too much pent up energy to long survive restricting herself to  
the small room's four walls. Still in the light blue warm-ups,  
she decided to expend some of that energy by just going outside  
and literally taking a jog around the neighborhood.  
  
And as she did so in the morning air, she found herself going  
once more over the thought process' that had led her to this  
moment.  
  
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl.* became the mental mantra  
echoing in her mind for several blocks, with each word  
corresponding to the impact of one foot on the pavement. In a  
way she found herself hoping that constant repetition would  
silence the uneasiness that was taking up residence inside of  
her. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to be working. Contradicting  
thoughts and ideas fought one another as she pushed forward.  
  
In some ways, she thought, she envied those of her friends whose  
curses made them into something other than human. From comparing  
notes with the others (mostly dad or Ryouga, but sometimes  
Shampoo or even Mousse), she had come to the conclusion that  
changes between species were much easier to handle mentally than  
changes within species. In part, she suspected that this was  
because the stark differences between the average pig or cat were  
much more pronounced than the corresponding human, and so it was  
much easier to note the mental discrepancies and shunt them aside  
or control them. As far as she could tell, for instance, neither  
Shampoo nor Mousse had any real desire to stay for long periods  
of time as a cat or a duck, and the only time Ryouga had had the  
urge to be a piglet was when he had the very human male desire to  
be close to Akane. That last had evaporated immediately upon  
Akane's discovery of the truth, and even with that new girlfriend  
of his Ryouga only descended to his pig form as rarely as random  
bursts of flying cold water would allow.  
  
Of course, this didn't quite explain her father's predilection  
toward his panda form, but then Ranko just put that one down to  
the fact that her father was just a lazy SOB.  
  
Yes, she thought. From what she'd been able to figure out after  
years of observation, having a curse that gave you a gender  
change was much more difficult to deal with than one that merely  
changed you into an animal. Despite the claims she loudly  
maintained to herself and to all who would listen, she was  
finding that there really was a difference between the two halves  
of her fractured existence, one that extended to more than just  
the physical. And it was there that the danger lied, because the  
differences were small, subtle, almost imperceptible. Very hard  
to detect, much harder to guard against, but ones which were  
fully capable of eroding away the masculine facade she had so  
determinably built and struggled to maintain since Jusenkyo.  
  
When Ranma and Akane started to get close, really close, after  
the whole Phoenix affair and the subsequent failed wedding, that  
was when (s)he started to notice them. Yes, (s)he loved Akane;  
of that there was no doubt. But yet, between the two halves  
there was a perceptible difference. To Ranma, the attraction had  
a physical, sensual edge to it. In Ranko, however, those aspects  
where much more muted, replaced by a sensitive, emotional  
awareness that transcended everything. In both halves, Akane was  
the person that was adored; but only in one was she the one with  
whom intimacy was desired.  
  
S(he) was struggling against ordinary biology, and s(he) was  
beginning to think that ordinary biology was starting to get the  
upper hand.  
  
Considering the turmoil her mental state had undergone in the  
most recent months, it was the only explanation she could think  
of that fit. Girls were hardwired to do certain things, to think  
certain ways, just like boys were hardwired to do similar but  
different things and similar but different modes of thought.   
There were exceptions to these rules, of course, but for the most  
part the evidence was overwhelming that the template held true.   
So no matter how dominant her male half was, no matter how much  
in control her masculine self sought to be in at all times, it  
could not control the simple fact that in girl form female  
hormones were raging through her system, his mind was functioning  
in a brain that was naturally inclined toward female patterns of  
thought, and that his very male mental image was at odds with her  
overwhelmingly physical female body. No matter what the male  
Ranma said or did in their female form, he could not change the  
fact that said form had a natural predilection toward asserting  
what millions of years of evolution had dictated for it.  
  
He'd been able to compensate for some time, vigorously, even  
ruthlessly, suppressing his feminine side wherever possible, both  
because he thought of himself as overwhelmingly male and because  
he had found the idea of a feminine self revolting. But years of  
exposure were taking their toll, his masculine guard was clearly  
not as adamant as it once was, and the female self was taking the  
opportunity to make its presence known, as if to say it would not  
be waved away by mere bluster.  
  
She was finding herself becoming acclimated to her female half.   
This was becoming apparent in hundreds of ways, large and small.   
Apparel, for instance. When the curse was yet new, the idea of  
wearing girl's or women's clothing was anathema. But now she  
could if need be wear just about anything, from the most plain  
work-clothes to the most seductive dress, and had in fact done so  
on numerous occasions. It had started out small, a reason that  
necessitated wearing a leotard and tights outfit here, a blouse  
or skirt there, but each successive incident had served to make  
the next that much less daunting, that much more likely, until  
she reached the point that the prospects of appearing in public  
wearing the clothing of this gender held no terror for her  
anymore. A few years ago, the prospect of wearing the outfit she  
had worn on her departure from Nerima would have seemed shocking,  
almost sickening; the previous night, it had seemed everyday,  
almost anti-climactic. Granted, when it came to clothing she  
still had preferences (plain and unadorned were clearly her's),  
and there were still whole sartorial regions that made her  
uncomfortable, but when you came right down to it given a good  
enough reason she could wear just about anything, and every once  
in a while she found she didn't even need that. Somehow, that  
was downright scary.  
  
She had tried to tell herself that they were just clothes, just  
pieces of cloth cut to fit on a body with certain proportions,  
that they really didn't signify anything. After all, look at  
Tsubasa and Konatsu, two of the most gender bending guys she  
knew. But yet, the problem was that deep down those two were  
still guys 100% of the time, and despite appearances still pretty  
much acted as such (especially around Ukyo). (S)he didn't have  
that luxury; because all it would take was a couple of drops of  
rain, and it was back to the girl form. Even if some of the  
conventions were ridiculous, biased, and otherwise outmoded, much  
of how a person was perceived and how they were treated by those  
around them was literally wrapped up in the way they dressed, so  
much so that Ranko could now see, with the perfect clarity of  
hindsight, that all the times she'd had to dress the part had  
also served to give her feminine self that much more room to grow  
and express. Like a vine, it had grown undetected in the  
foundation, and now suddenly was threatening to undermine the  
whole structure if it were removed.  
  
She could remember the times clearly. When she was in girl form,  
and she caught herself in a heresy. When emotions flashed, and  
she felt herself drawn to raw feelings she had never experienced  
before, or had never dared allow herself to share. Like when  
Mikado kissed her, and she reacted less like a pissed off guy and  
more like a freaked-out girl; or when the whole Picolet affair  
seemed to be going horribly wrong, and the very real prospect  
emerged that she could end up married to a young man; or when  
that strange demon doppleganger of hers had challenged her to a  
"picking up guys contest", and she had accepted. In all of those  
times, she had felt the pull and resisted it, stifled the small  
voice that yearned for equal time, and plowed ahead in masculine  
certainty. She could feel the betraying little lurch inside of  
her that sometimes came when a complete stranger respectfully  
treated her as a girl, when an old woman complemented such a  
"courteous young lady", or even sometimes, more alarmingly, when  
a young man was looking her over appreciatively from several feet  
away. It was that pleasant feeling of acceptance, of  
acquiescence, that none of them knew wiser and as far as they  
were concerned she was just another girl, without all of the  
unique uncertainties dangling over her head, ready to crush.  
  
It was a feeling that said being a girl wasn't all that bad, that  
it offered up possibilities she had never imagined as a guy, and  
that she was in a unique position and maybe it would be nice to  
explore the options just a little more.  
  
The feeling was always crushed, but never fully eradicated. And  
the more she suppressed it, the stronger it would come back at  
some unsuspecting time. Like at night, when she was dreaming.   
At first the dreams came rarely, and only when she went to sleep  
in girl form. But in the last year they became more frequent,  
more demanding, and were coming even when sleeping as a guy,  
eating away at her subconscious and demanding to be paid  
attention to. The incident rate was going up. She'd sometimes  
find excuses to change into a girl, or to not change back. She'd  
wander aimlessly around town "just to get some exercise", and  
pass up numerous opportunities for hot water. Once she even  
found herself starring at Ryouga, telling herself that it was  
nothing more than professional interest that prompted her to note  
the shape of the musculature in his arms, his legs, his chest.   
She always told herself differently, emphatically, that she was  
not going over, but each time it happened she found it more  
difficult to explain away. As uncertainties began to mount, the  
need to find a cure was becoming more tantamount.  
  
*So, why are you giving it free reign to take over?* the male  
part of her sneered. *This is the last thing you should be doing  
now! Go to China, get a cure, and be done with it all!*  
  
*Yes, I know. That is what I should be doing.*  
  
*So, why aren't you?*  
  
*Because...* another part of her thought. She sighed in  
exasperation. *Because...*  
  
The mantra repeated: *I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl.*  
  
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl.*  
  
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a ...*  
  
*Because...* she thought quietly to herself. *It's become a part  
of me now. I don't know if I can give it up.*  
  
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / guy.*  
  
*I'm / a / girl, / not / a / girl.*  
  
*I'm / a / girl, / not / a / guy?*  
  
*I'm / a / guy, / not / a / girl?*  
  
*What about Akane?* the voice asked up. *Don't you love her?   
Don't you want to marry her?*  
  
*Yes.*  
  
*THEN WHY THE HELL ARE YOU BETRAYING HER LIKE THIS?*  
  
Her thoughts were suddenly silent. Glancing ahead, she suddenly  
realized that she was rapidly running out of jogging pavement.   
The street she was on was about to dead-end onto a bayside road  
that ran east along the shore of Kobe Bay, and as she arrived at  
the corner she noted that the road probably continued all the way  
toward the head of the bay and the Pacific coast. She ran in  
place among strangers while waiting for the light to change,  
trotted across the zebra crossing when it had, and took a turn  
east on the walkway along the coast, mostly because she had to  
choose a direction and at least that one looked the more  
pleasant.  
  
She didn't answer herself for almost a kilometer.  
  
*Because.... because Akane deserves a full man, not half of one.*  
  
*She says it doesn't matter. She loves you no matter what the  
form.*  
  
*I know.*  
  
*Then why...?*  
  
*Because it matters to me.*  
  
She stopped running. Taking deep breaths, she stood along the  
side of the walkway, and momentarily gazed at the blueish-grey  
bay. Then she began to slowly stretch her aching muscles.  
  
*Because if I don't do this, I'll always have that uncertainty.   
I'll always wonder what I missed, what I didn't let myself do  
when I had the chance. I don't want to wake up ten years from  
now and wish fervently I was Ranko again, even for an afternoon.*   
Pant, pant, stretch. *I can't live this half-and-half life  
anymore. It's miserable. It's getting to the point that I no  
longer know who I am. I have to choose, and choose soon. I'm  
tired of the uncertainties. I hate uncertainties. I want  
answers.* Stretch, stretch, pant. *This is the only way I know to  
find them. I can't make a decision if I don't know what the  
answer is.*  
  
*And what if you decide you like this? What if you decide you'd  
rather be female for the rest of your life? What will you tell  
Akane?*  
  
*I'll have to tell her the truth. All of it.* She sighed. *That,  
I think, would be much better than living a lie for an entire  
life, don't you think?*  
  
She stopped her stretching, and took stock of her surroundings.   
To her right she could see the docks in the distance, to her left  
the Pacific. She could see the skyline of Osaka across the bay,  
and the distant mountains behind the city. Kyoto was someplace  
nearby, but which direction she suddenly couldn't remember.   
She'd always wanted to visit the ancient capitol but had never  
had the chance, so perhaps sometime soon she might be able to.  
  
She looked in the direction from whence she came. She thought  
she could probably find her way back to the apartment. It would  
make for an interesting afternoon, she decided, if she couldn't.  
  
She took a deep breath, and found the conversation with herself  
had done nothing to lessen the pent up energy she felt she had.   
In fact, she suddenly felt as if it had been invigorated.  
  
She started to jog back to the apartment.  
  
*Look,* she promised herself, *the truth is, I don't think it's  
likely to happen. There are some aspects about this that I still  
don't know if I can live with. But I'm not going to find an  
answer by hanging around back home. This is the best, and only,  
way to know for certain. Besides... up until now, every major  
decision about my life has been made for me by others. I want to  
know I'm making the right decision, and making it on my own.*  
  
*Three months. Three months out of an entire life, to find a  
truth. That's all I'm asking.*  
  
*Three months?* the male part asked, skeptically.  
  
*Three months. Tops. After that, China. I promise.*  
  
*To do what, though?*  
  
She didn't answer the question. Instead, she simply continued on  
her jog, the route to her destination still slightly uncertain.  
  
But at least, she thought, she was going somewhere.  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
There was a gentle knock on the door as Ranko carefully screwed  
the small bottle shut. In her window, the sky was ablaze with  
the orange and reds of the evening.  
  
"Who is it?" she asked, voice raised and waving one hand  
frantically. "I can't exactly come to the door right at this  
moment."  
  
"It's me, Fumiko." the familiar voice sounded from beyond the  
door. "I was just wondering how you were doing settling in."  
  
Ranko glanced at the door. Sure enough, the locks were not in  
place. Old habits were hard to break. "Oh, come on in, then.   
The door's unlocked."  
  
Fumiko stepped in and smiled at her neighbor, who had by now  
changed into a simple outfit of red shorts and yellow t-shirt.   
She glanced at the items on the desk the younger woman was  
sitting at. The faint tinge of acetate hung in the air. "Doing  
your nails, I see?" she observed.  
  
Ranko stopped waving the one hand, and glanced down with mixed  
emotions at the drying red enamel on her fingernails. "Yeah."  
she said, unusually subdued. "I was, umm, getting ready to go  
out for interviews."  
  
"You mean you've lined up something already?" Fumiko asked,  
slightly incredulous.  
  
Ranko nodded in the negative. "I was just going to go out  
tomorrow and start looking, see where things lead me. Other than  
that, nothing yet."  
  
"Oh." Fumiko said. "Well, I know you said you weren't  
interested, but I did some asking around at work today and found  
that they are looking to hire, so if you want to reconsider I can  
probably set-up an interview, maybe even tomorrow. That is, if  
you're willing..."  
  
"To do what you do?" Ranko asked cautiously.  
  
"Well, yeah."  
  
Ranko considered. *Don't.* the male part of her said. *It's  
demeaning and beneath you. There are better things out there for  
you to do.*  
  
*Yeah, but it's a job. It'll pay the rent, and I might be able  
to start work immediately. Besides, it's public exposure, right?   
I'll be out in the open, interacting with people. Which is part  
of the point of this exercise, isn't it?*  
  
*Isn't it?*  
  
If her male psyche could shrug it would have done so. Instead,  
it merely sulked.  
  
Ranko looked back up at her helpful neighbor. "Well, maybe."   
She sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to at least interview  
for it."  
  
"No, probably not." She smiled. "Want me to set it up?"  
  
This time, Ranko did the shrug. "Yeah, might as well. I suppose  
I've got nothing to loose. Want to give me the details?"  
  
"Are your nails dry, yet?"  
  
Ranko experimentally tapped the surface of one. Sure enough, it  
was firm. "Yes. This stuff is quick drying. Why?"  
  
"Then put something on, I'll treat for dinner, and we can discuss  
it over food. Right now I want to just get out of here and get  
something to eat."  
  
Ranko nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. Wait a moment, I'll  
find something."  
  
As the redhead went over to her closet, Fumiko continued. "Oh,  
by the way. I understand Mrs. Hayakawa called downstairs and  
left messages. She says she'll be back tomorrow."  
  
"Oh, that's good." Ranko said, examining her meager wardrobe and  
selecting a couple of items, mostly because they were easy to put  
on.  
  
Fumiko watched as the younger woman put on a white blouse and  
started to button. "Didn't you say you needed to talk to her  
about something?" she asked.  
  
Ranko nodded, seemed to hesitate, then reached for the other item  
she had set mentally aside, a black skirt of about knee length,  
one of the ones she had purchased the day before. "Oh, yeah."  
she mumbled, as she began to step into it, then brought the  
waistband up to her waist. "I did, but not anymore." Once at  
the waist she zippered up the side, ending with a snap. "I took  
care of things this afternoon. No need to bother her." Then,  
unconsciously, the hand that had just zippered herself up now  
slowly smoothed the garment to make it more presentable. "No, no  
need to bother her at all."  
  
For a moment, Fumiko thought the girl was staring into space.   
Then, she looked down at herself, shook her head as if to clear  
something, and smiled.  
  
"Come on, lets go. I want to get out of here."  
  
END PART THREE 


End file.
